by Jacob Stone
Johnson didn’t sound entirely convinced as he asked, “How’d you get out of there?”
“It wasn’t too hard. Costly, though. I paid three grand to make some evidence disappear.”
The connection went silent long enough that Stonehedge thought that the man might’ve hung up on him, then Johnson got back on the line. “Okay. I’ll meet with you. But forget K-Town. There’s a Travelers Motor Lodge on South Figueroa. You tell me what car you’re driving, and when you pull into the parking lot I’ll signal you to my room.”
Stonehedge gave Morris a questioning look, and Morris shook his head. He’d been a homicide cop long enough to know why Johnson wanted to get Stonehedge alone in a motel room, and that was so he could beat the details of the business venture out of Stonehedge, and then cut the actor’s throat and leave him dead. Morris made a cutting motion over his throat to let Stonehedge know what Johnson would do to him if he were to meet him at that motel.
“I’m beginning to think you’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Stonehedge said. “I’ve got a restaurant in K-Town where they’ve got a back room I use that’s safe. The cops can’t listen in with a parabolic microphone and I can vouch that the place isn’t bugged. More importantly for me, though, is if you try any funny business there are four guys there with butcher knives who’ll make sure you end up as a special ingredient in the bibimbap. If you’re going to give me any further grief, tell me now so I can quit wasting my time.”
“Forget the Travelers Motor Lodge,” Johnson grumbled, properly chastised. “I’ll meet you in K-Town in an hour. This deal better be what you’re saying it is.”
Stonehedge gave him the name of the restaurant, told him to ask for Mickey D. when he got there, and ended the call.
“Impressive improvisational skills,” Morris commented.
“Thanks,” Stonehedge said, beaming. “We do a small amount of improv with some of the scripts, although nothing like this. Damn, though, that was fun. I felt like I got to stretch my acting muscles.”
“It was a struggle not to applaud,” Morris said, straight-faced. “Mickey D., though. I don’t know. Not the most original name you could’ve come up with.”
Mickey D.’s was the name of the bar where Stonehedge had arranged bathroom privileges.
“We didn’t discuss ahead of time what name I should use,” Stonehedge said with a grin. “And as an actor, you use the material you’re given.” His grin faded and he replicated the same throat-cutting gesture Morris had used. “You really think he wanted me in that motel room so he could kill me?”
“Yeah, rap sheets don’t lie. This guy’s a sadist. Even if he could’ve gotten you to willingly tell him about your big score, he’d still want to do it his way, which would be to tie you to a chair and torture the information out of you. When he was done, he’d have to make sure you were dead before he left the room.”
“Why would he need to do that? He’d know I wouldn’t be able to go to the police, at least if I was really who he thought I was.”
“He wouldn’t want any competition around for the big score.”
Stonehedge’s expression weakened as he absorbed this. “Wow,” he said, swallowing hard. “It just hit me how real this is. I’ll be alone in a room with a bloodthirsty psycho.”
“It won’t be your first time. And you survived Jason Dorsage without any backup. Besides, I’d also say Johnson’s more of a violent sociopath.”
Stonehedge made a pained face as he thought about his encounter with the malicious serial killer who had hoped to kill thousands in Los Angeles. “Thanks. Should I have a gun?”
“Nah, you’ll be fine. He’ll be cautious meeting you on your home turf. He’ll also be taking your threat seriously. Johnson will be on his best behavior.” Morris’s flinty gray eyes took on a hard sheen as he added, “If you were to actually partner with him on a robbery, I’m sure he’d double-cross you and leave you dead.”
Stonehedge whispered, “This is getting damn real.”
Chapter 19
George Campbell waited until the drinks arrived before reaching across the table and placing a small, gift-wrapped box in front of Meagan.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Open it and find out.”
She tentatively picked up the box, but seemed unsure what to do with it.
“You really shouldn’t have bought me anything,” she said, a heaviness in her voice. She looked exhausted all of a sudden, as if her strength had bled out of her. “It wasn’t necessary.”
George’s eyes began misting up. “Meagan, I needed to buy you this. Please, just open the gift.”
“Today’s been a lovely day,” she said somewhat wistfully.
“Like when we first started dating.”
She showed him a heartbreaking smile. “Not just like back then, but I was just as happy the first two years we were married.”
“I know. But I swear it will be like that again,” he promised her. His face convulsed as if he were struggling to maintain his composure. He rubbed a hand roughly across his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never be able to tell you how truly sorry I am.”
“I forgave you,” she said, self-conscious of the other diners around them. She kept her voice low as she added, “We’re moving forward and working past what happened, right?”
“Right,” he agreed. His eyes quickly became liquid and he choked back a sob. “You need to know I’ll be spending every day of the rest of my life proving to you how much I cherish you and how grateful I am for this second chance.”
“Stop it now.”
“It was all so stupid,” he said, his words rapidly tumbling out. “So ridiculously, insanely stupid. I can’t explain why it happened other than I was an idiot, but you have to believe me that Lindsey never meant anything to me.”
Meagan stood up, her body shaking. “You were never to mention her name again,” she said, her voice like ice. “That was the deal we had!”
Their waiter had stopped to look at them. Other diners in the Beverly Hills restaurant were staring also. George clasped his head with both hands, as if he were going to start tearing his hair out.
“I’m screwing this up,” he moaned. “We had such a good day, and I’m screwing everything up. Please, baby, sit down. I’ll never mention her name again. I promise.”
We’re making a ridiculous scene, Meagan thought. Like we’re starring in some badly-written afternoon soap opera.
She became painfully aware that everyone nearby was staring at them. There was nothing she hated more than being the center of attention, good or bad. No, that wasn’t quite true. There was one thing she hated more than that, and that was finding out the man she thought she was happily married to was having a tawdry affair with a coworker. A loudmouthed, pushy woman with big hair, big boobs, and a big ass to match by the name of Lindsey Bushnell. The whole thing was so damn cliché that it sickened her. She sat back down, looking like she had aged a decade.
“You’re not screwing everything up,” she said, feeling self-conscious and concentrating to keep her voice low so no one could listen in on them. “And we did have a nice day. We’ll have more nice days too. You just have to be patient and not force things.”
“I don’t deserve you,” he said. “I really don’t.”
Meagan didn’t argue with him. Instead, she picked up her martini and sipped it slowly.
George rubbed the wetness from his eyes. He tried to manufacture a smile, but it didn’t stick.
“I really wish you’d open that gift,” he said, nodding toward the gift-wrapped box that Meagan had left on the table. “I’m sure you’ll love it. And it cost a small fortune.”
“It’s not going to work that way.”
He gave her a confused look. “What are you talking about?”
She put down her drink and met his gaze. “You’re not going to fix things
by buying me stuff,” she said. “I hope we can get back to what we had, but it will have to be by hard work and you winning back my trust, and not by you spending money.”
“I know that, and that’s not why I want to give you this. When I saw it in the store window I knew you’d love it. That’s my only reason, I swear.” He forced a goofy grin. “Maybe I was also trying to be romantic.”
“When did you buy it?” she asked.
“Today, when you were in Stefano’s trying on clothing.” His grin grew wider. “I bet I ran a fourteen-second hundred-yard dash so I could buy that and get back to Stefano’s before you left the dressing room. I’m pretty sure I ran even faster to get back to the store. My high school coach would’ve been proud.”
Meagan accepted that he got caught up in the moment, just like she did after they had walked into that clothing store. She only wanted to go in there to buy a blouse for work, but it was George’s idea that they look at lingerie, and she went along with it. They had gotten along so well that day, and for the first time in over six months she was feeling comfortable with him again. It was also the first time since she found out about his affair that she’d been able to spend any time with him without being consumed by anger. They still had a long way to go, but she was beginning to believe that they could get back to what they once had. More importantly, she found herself trusting him again, at least mostly. When he started trying to reconcile with her, she was convinced he had an ulterior motive and was only trying to protect his assets and company-stock options, but she now believed he was sincere. That he did love her and regretted betraying her.
She pushed the gift closer toward him. “Why don’t you hold this ’til Christmas Eve and leave it under the tree so I can open it Christmas morning?” she suggested.
“I understand,” he said. He put the gift away in his pocket. The look on his face showed he didn’t understand, but then he caught the meaning of what she had said. He could always be a little slow on the uptake. “You think there’s a chance we’ll be back together by Christmas?”
“I’m hoping so.”
The waiter brought their food. Meagan mostly picked at her wood-grilled sea bass. She knew the food at this restaurant was delicious, but a mix of confusing emotions had left her with little appetite. George also picked at his food. He looked conflicted, as if he were struggling over a question.
“We don’t have to wait until Christmas,” he said. “You could come home tonight and we could see how it goes.”
Her therapist would’ve wanted her to tell him that it was too soon, but he was looking like such a lovesick fool right then that it tugged at her heart. And it had been a nice day, after all. Maybe it was time for them to take the next step. She had moved out of the house after she found out about his affair and hadn’t had sex since then, or even had any desire for it. That was over six months ago. When she thought about how long it had been, it stunned her.
“Come on, baby,” he pleaded. “You bought that sexy nightgown for a reason.”
She could’ve argued that she was swept up in the moment, but she knew that wasn’t true. For the first time since that awful day she was feeling sexy and desirable again, and would it be so awful if they slept together?
“One night, baby,” he said. “We can see how it goes and make a decision after that. Please, baby?”
“I’m not saying yes or no,” she said. “We’ll see.”
He broke out into a stupid grin; the type that always touched her heart.
“That’s all I can ask for. Just for you to keep an open mind.”
* * * *
Duncan had followed George and Meagan Campbell to the Beverly Hills restaurant. While he would’ve liked to have eavesdropped on them more, he didn’t think it would be safe to do so—that they might’ve recognized him from the ritzy-ditzy clothing store and found it suspicious if they also saw him in the restaurant. So instead he parked his car half a block away so he could watch when they left the restaurant’s parking lot.
He didn’t need to be following them any longer. He knew where they lived and he could’ve gone to their home so he’d be waiting for them when they returned. For a reason he couldn’t quite articulate, it seemed important that he continue to follow them so that he knew everything they did on their last night together.
It was more than simply a compulsion on his part, although that was partly it. As Duncan sat and wondered about this, the reason soon became crystal clear. It was so he could work up enough rage for what was coming.
Chapter 20
Philip Stonehedge had seen Trey Johnson’s mugshot, so he knew what to expect, but that didn’t stop a cold sweat from crawling down his back when Johnson entered the room. He was one scary-looking dude, even though he was three inches shorter than Stonehedge and much thinner. Johnson had the same facial and neck tattoos that the actor had seen in the photo, although the tattoos somehow seemed more sinister in the flesh. What spooked Stonehedge the most was the deadness in Johnson’s eyes and a feral quality that emanated from him in waves like a bad cologne. Stonehedge knew he was safe meeting him in the basement of this restaurant. He of course had lied to Johnson about the room not being bugged, and at that moment Morris and Charlie Bogle were in an adjoining room listening in. Also, Morris had arranged for Johnson to see two of the cooks holding meat cleavers and giving him the evil eye as a warning. While he knew he was in no danger, he also knew Morris was right that Johnson wanted him alone in that motel room for evil purposes.
There was a bottle of Canadian whiskey and two platters of dumplings on the table where Stonehedge sat. Johnson took the chair across from him and popped a fried pork dumpling into his mouth.
Stonehedge said, “Those taste better if you use the dipping sauce.”
Johnson gave him a dull-eyed stare in return. He picked up the whiskey bottle and instead of pouring some into a glass, he drank straight from the bottle. He was wearing a biker’s leather jacket, and when he was done, he wiped a sleeve across his mouth and held the bottle as if he were planning to use it as a weapon.
Johnson leaned back casually in his chair, but any sense of calmness was betrayed by his right leg bouncing up and down as if he were revving himself up to commit violence. A menacing sheen showed in his half-lidded eyes.
“How about you tell me about this opportunity,” he said in that same slick voice Stonehedge had heard earlier. In person, his voice made Stonehedge think of a poisonous snake.
“Assuming you do this with me, we’ll be hitting a high-stakes poker game,” the actor said. “All the players are top film execs and the game’s held at a Malibu home. We’ll be gaining access disguised as caterers after we leave the real caterers tied up. There will be three security guards inside. We’ll need to rush them fast and knock them out. One of them is my inside man, and you need to make sure he never wakes up again, otherwise our two-way split becomes three-ways. While you’re keeping the players occupied, I’m hitting the safe. Any questions?”
The plan Stonehedge outlined came straight from a movie he’d shot two years ago that was still looking for distribution. Johnson seemed impressed enough by what he heard that his leg-bouncing came to a stop. His eyes took on a distant look as he appeared to be searching for cracks in the operation.
He wet his lips and asked, “How do you know there will be two-hundred grand?”
“From my inside man. All the games have had at least that much. Last time these fat cats talked about upping the stakes for their next game.”
Johnson smiled in a borderline obscene way. “You have no problem double-crossing your inside guy?”
“None at all.”
“How do I know you won’t be double-crossing me?”
Stonehedge was impressed by how closely their conversation was following the dialogue from the movie. He had to give those writers credit. They nailed it!
“The guy’s a
sap who’s just begging to be double-crossed. You and me, we won’t trust each other for a second, which means we’ll both take the necessary precautions. Once we get the money, we do the split and never see each other again. Does that satisfy you?”
Johnson’s smile became an outright obscenity. “You’re one confident fucker.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Stonehedge signaled for Johnson to hand over the whiskey bottle, and the man did so without a fuss. Stonehedge refilled his glass and when he put the bottle down, he made sure it was out of Johnson’s reach.
He said, “I’ve heard that you like to crack people’s skulls with the butt end of a pistol. That’s what I need. Someone who’ll go in there like a tornado and wreak havoc. But I need to make sure you can handle doing more than just cracking skulls. My inside guy needs to die in that house.”
“That won’t be a problem.”
“There’s a big difference between knocking someone unconscious and killing a man in cold blood. I need to know you can handle it.”
“Yeah? You want me to demonstrate?” Johnson asked. “Because if that’s what you need to see, get me someone from the kitchen no one will miss.”
“This isn’t a joke.”
“What makes you think I’m joking?”
The actor knew this psycho was deadly serious, but he continued to act as if that wasn’t the case.
“I don’t have time for this nonsense,” he said, exaggerating the disgust in his voice and making sure to curl his upper lip. “You want to act like this is a game, then how about you get lost. Scram, okay?”
Johnson didn’t want to leave. That was evident from the way his eyes shined and the tightness in his jaw. Stonehedge had no doubt the guy badly wanted to be part of this fictional heist, and was already scheming about different ways he could double-cross Stonehedge and take all the money.
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, okay?” Johnson said. “You want me to explain why killing some schmuck won’t bother me? Your inside guy won’t be the first body I’ve planted in the ground, if you get what I’m saying. There have been plenty of others, brother. A week ago last Thursday there was a fat slob working the cash register at a liquor store on Oxnard that I robbed. I put a bullet right here.” He pointed to his left eye. “I had no problem doing that for three hundred and eighteen dollars. What do you think I’m willing to do for a hundred grand?”